Page 101 of Modern Romance May 2026 Books 1-4
Caius, was, after all, one of the most photographed and coveted bachelors on the planet. Aside from being a king, and somehow in spite of his relentless socialising, he was also a renowned financier. Respected the world over for his acumen. He’d built up a fortune to rival the one he’d inherited on his coronation day.
But there was something about his insanely good looks that had caught at Poppy whenever she’d looked him up online, even as his social whirl made her wonder what on earth he was chasing.
He was so masculine, in a way that no royal playboy should be. And, even though he was always smiling and charming and undeniably sexy, she’d sensed that there was something more underneath the devil-may-care surface. Something a bit…bleak that she recognised. To think for a second that they might be kindred spirits? Deluded.
She snorted a little to herself from her vantage point at the side of the ballroom. She knew what was underneath the charm. A deep and toxic seam of cynicism. And arrogance.
For a second she was almost tempted to turn tail and go back to Valdere, but then she thought of the effort she’d put in to come here, and of convincing Stephen that she really didn’t even need her security to shadow her at the party because she’d be in disguise…and before she could change her mind, she helped herself to a glass of champagne, took a breath and dived into the crowd and made her way to where the man was holding court in the centre of the room, surrounded by adoring acolytes.
‘And then…’ Caius delayed his punchline, letting the tension build. He looked at the faces around him, tilted towards him, eyes shining, mouths open. Men vying for his attention, women vying forhim, lust in their eyes and not just for the physical but for so much more. For status…as his queen.
As Caius drew the moment out, he imagined just stepping back, into the crowd and melting away. Leaving them all looking at an empty space. Because he was empty inside. Hollow. And he felt it in this moment. These people couldn’t care less about him. He couldn’t care less about them.
Was this it?Even once he acquired a queen and had heirs, would he still feel this…lonely?
At the last second, just when he noticed a couple of people look at each other as if to ask if he’d lost it, Caius delivered the punchline, some inanity, that wasn’t all that funny, and yet they squealed and guffawed with laughter.
‘You’reawful, Caius…or must we address you as King Caius now?’ said a voice close to his ear with an accompanying hand on his arm, squeezing possessively. He looked to his side to see a woman he recognised, even under her mask. He’d slept with her once and, ever since, she’d been angling to get back into his bed, but now his insides turned over at her cloying perfume and he shook his arm free.
‘Excuse me, there’s someone I need to speak with.’
He saw the flash of displeasure in her eyes as he turned away and it only compounded a growing sense of desperation. He could leave this party, he knew that. But to do what? Go where?
Go back to Sadat and concentrate on matters of the state?suggested a little voice. Yes, of course he could do that. Should do that. But somehow the thought of his serene island home, with its pretty main town, sparkling marina and rocky shores, didn’t even entice.
He also had the pressing matter of a queen to consider, the unsavoury prospect of which was non- negotiable. His team had found him—in their eyes—a perfect candidate, and on paper she was. Young, single, a crown princess in possession of a monarchy in a strategically attractive part of Europe. Central to everything and full of economic potential. She was also a crown princess in desperate need of a king, as she couldn’t become sovereign until she married—a fact his team had unearthed.
She, however, had little personal appeal for Caius and even though he knew this was a good recipe for a harmonious marriage—the last thing he wanted was a repeat of his parents’ histrionics—he felt reluctant.
It was as if, since he’d become king, he’d become more and more aware thatthis was it. He was now king and yet on his coronation day he hadn’t felt any great sense of…coming home. Or that he was finally in his rightful place. He’d always thought that once he was king, he’d feel more of a sense of belonging but, if anything, as he’d looked out over the crowd of people, he’d felt even more alienated. Worse, he’d felt a void inside him.
Caius didn’t remember his father ever being remotely warm or affectionate. He’d always looked at Caius with a strange expression, almost suspiciously. And he’d been embroiled in the toxic relationship with Caius’s mother. Their arguments had been epic and volcanic. The toxicity had spread throughout the palace, infecting everything.
Caius had a younger sister, Cassie, and he’d done his best to shield her from it, but suspected he hadn’t been very effective. He’d escaped as soon as he could, but wherever he’d gone he’d brought a circus of rabid press to document his every move. It had become easier to give in to it than to avoid it, and he’d found that it had become a seductive smokescreen to hide the fact that he’d been born purely as a means to an end. To be an heir. It was like an invisible tattoo on his skin.Unwanted and unloved. But useful for his bloodline.
The fact that his usual social whirl wasn’t distracting him was not a good sign. His uncharacteristic introspection mocked him. In this world who grew up with adoring parents? It was an urban myth. Laughable. You grew up and survived and then you did the same to the next generation and maybe hoped to do a little bit better. Especially if you were royalty.
Caius spotted a waiter weaving through the crowd with a tray of glasses of sparkling wine. He plucked a full glass from the tray and turned to make his way to somewhere he could try and shake himself out of this funk.
But just as he was about to take a step forward he collided with something. He heard a shocked gasp and looked down. It wasn’t something, it wassomeone. A woman, who was looking up at him. A few inches shorter than him. A black lace mask covered the top half of her face but he could see a straight nose, delicately defined jaw and a mouth that made him look again. Full and sensual.
Dark eyes under the mask. Dark lustrous hair pulled back into a careless bun. But when he looked down further his heart stopped and then started to gallop. She was wearing a tuxedo suit. Like the men. Slim-fitting straight trousers. White shirt. Black jacket. But no tie. Her shirt was open at the neck, a bow tie artfully dangling open. From here, Caius could see the shadowy cleft of generous cleavage.
It was so surprising to see a woman dressed like this that Caius took a step back. She looked shocked too. And it was only then that Caius noticed that she was holding a glass and that it was now empty and the contents all over the chest of her shirt, spreading in a wet stain.
Along with the contents of his own glass.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, realising what had happened and why she was looking so shocked. ‘I didn’t see you there.’
She seemed to be recovering, pulling her shirt out a little, which only made it clear that she was drenched.
‘Here, give me your glass.’
She looked up and handed her glass to Caius. He noticed that she had a little dimple in her chin. It rang a faint bell in his head. He must know her from somewhere as this social milieu was a relatively small one but he knew that it wasn’t an intimate connection.
He wasn’t that rampant. The press had been wildly exaggerating his exploits for so long now that he hardly noticed. He handed the glasses to a passing waiter and when his discreet security detail asked if he could be of assistance, Caius said, ‘Find us a private space, please, and some hotel staff.’
The woman protested, ‘It’s fine, don’t worry. It’s not that bad.’ He noticed her voice had a pleasingly low timbre. Also, that anyone else in this situation would be raising hell right about now.
